Of Law and Angels
by Liriane
Summary: When there's white collar crime in New York, Neal and Peter are the two to call. But, when the mysterious entity known as The Gentleman goes on a crime spree, will Peter and Neal meet their match? Or is there more to this criminal than meets the eye?
1. Chapter 1

Hey y'all! I'm back with a SECOND fanfic! Not that I could manage one… At any rate, will Peter and Neil be able to work this one out, or has the famous duo finally met their match?

A/N: looking for an editor/proofreader! (For one or both of my fics, your pick!) I have made due by myself, but I could most certainly go faster with help. If interested, please PM! Also, there MAY be a few M rated chapters, but those WILL be noted at the beginning, for you sensitive readers out there. I am hoping for this to be a fairly long fic. Finally, to the story!

P.S. please R&R! I love hearing from y'all!

**Chapter One: A Good Case**

The clock read 1:30 AM, not that this particular individual cared very much. All they wanted was to be in an out as quickly, silently, and-of course-stylishly as possible. In this line of work, appearances were worth almost as much as results.

They knew that they would be seen later, on the security tapes. Not that it would matter-by then, the job would be done. Not that anyone could see much anyway; clad in a heavy suit, dress pants, and an old-fashioned top hat, all black, with a neatly pressed, white dress shirt and matching white gloves. The thief was nearly invisible in the near pitch-darkness that engulfed the museum due to a "mysterious" lighting malfunction.

The thief had a very slim build and, as was a requirement for a quick getaway, was very quick on their feet. Knowing that it was far too dark to discern any of the their features, the thief chuckled a little and tipped the old-fashioned top hat politely at the lone camera in the restoration vault, and sighed. It was really just too easy.

The thief looked around, quickly finding the piece so sought after by a well-paying client. It was a fairly small piece, but, being a connoisseur of the arts, the thief could appreciate its beauty. Picking it up with exceeding care, the thief placed it in a pre-measured container strapped to the back of the raven suit jacket. The thief then placed a beautiful red rose in its place. With a flourishing bow to the camera, the thief made for the door.

Exiting the vault with precious cargo, the thief halted. Taking a can of aerosol spray from an impeccably stylish belt, the thief sprayed the entire hallway with the misting liquid. The thin, zigzagging beams of light the thief was expecting soon came into view across the floor. Those lights could mean the end of a career for someone who wasn't careful. This thief, on the other hand, was always careful.

The thief's clothing appeared, at first glance, a poor choice for any sort of physical activity. In reality, it was actually just the opposite. Tailored specially without any trailing tails or loose fabric, the suit was made of a breathable fabric which kept the thief feeling cool and comfortable. The impeccable top hat was collapsible and had its own, zippered pocket. Even the cuffs buttoned and tucked tightly, and the pants cuffs tucked comfortably into the thief's shoes.

Now, with the ever-impeccable clothing out of the way, the thief backed up a step before making his escape. This consisted of several athletic feats that properly belonged on a balance beam. If the thief had wanted to live a legal life, Olympic gymnast was definitely an option. But crime was just too much fun.

At the end of these feats, the thief flipped out the classy top hat, flourished it in an equally classy bow, and placed it on top of an equally raven head of hair. It was all for the camera, of course. The thief truly hoped they could see it through the darkness.

* * *

Neal Caffrey knew immediately upon waking that he had drunk too much the night prior.

Head ringing, he checked the alarm beside him. Cursing under his breath, Neal hurriedly showered and got dressed. Just as he was putting on his signature hat, there was a knock at his door. Peter didn't even bother waiting for him to answer.

"We've got a case!" Peter announced excitedly, walking through the door, grinning from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas.

"Okay, Peter … but that makes it a day that ends in 'y'. What about this one that has you so excited?" Neal rubbed his temple. He really wished his painkiller would kick in. Peter's excitement was hammering in his head like a drum.

"The Metropolitan was robbed early this morning! No alarms were set off and…hey, Neal, are you okay? You don't look so great." Peter looked concerned. "Does this have something to do with-"

"Yes, okay, fine. Sara dumped me a while back, though. It's nothing new." It was, though. Sara had moved on. Without him. He had gotten over her, but seeing her happy with her new boyfriend was still tough to swallow. Rum, on the other hand, had been much easier in that respect. "I've got it out of my system now."

"Alright, good for you. At any rate let's get to the office. You have to see this footage."

The painkillers had kicked in, and Neal realized if Peter was this excited, it must be interesting already. Heading out the door behind his friend, Neal asked: "What exactly was stolen?"

"A piece called The Lacemaker."

Neal stopped in his tracks. "The Lacemaker? By Salvador Dalí? You're kidding. I've been after that one for years!"

"You mean you _were _after it. Before you joined the good guys." Peter gave Neal a look.

"Of course, that's what I meant. Now, let's go. I really want to see how this guy managed to pull this heist without tripping those alarms."

* * *

A/N: How is it so far? Promise to update ASAP! PLEASE R&R!

P.S. don't forget to PM me if you're interested in editing/proofreading!


	2. Chapter 2: The Gentleman

Well, my muse has dwelt here on Of Law and Angels, so I got started on this chapter so soon after the first one! I've got a beta now! Say hello to ccluvshorses101! Yay! Please remember to R&R I love hearing from y'all! Now, to the story.

**Chapter Two: The Gentleman**

Arriving at FBI Headquarters, Neal once again thanked his luck. The view from here was much better than one from a prison cell, and the food was better, too. Plus working here, with Peter was sort of gratifying. _Even if none of those criminals happen to be nearly as good_ _as I am. _He thought wryly. _Was, _he corrected himself. _I'm a good guy now. I think. _Entering the elevator with Peter, Neal began to inquire more about the case

"So, let me get this straight. This guy breaks into the Metropolitan, steals a Dalí, and escapes without tripping an alarm?" Neal hated to admit it, but he was impressed. It really was quite a feat.

"That sounds about right. We should have the video by now; we had to get a warrant earlier, for privacy reasons." Peter shook his head, but his eyes were gleaming. After months of monotonous cases, he was finally getting a good one.

Getting off on their floor, the duo headed for the conference room, where Diana was waiting alongside Jones. Diana was sporting her usual no-nonsense look, while Jones was much more cheerful by comparison. Smiling, Neal gave a small wave. Jones waved back, and Diana rolled her eyes.

Reaching the conference room, they exchanged greetings and then turned to the large flat screen TV, showing what appeared to be a blotchy, dark scene. Pressing play, they weren't able to see a thing.

"This," said Diana "is the original footage. The museum sent the film straight to the lab techs, who gave us this one." Diana held up a CD.

"Why is it so dark?" asked Peter. "Doesn't the museum keep the dim lights on at night?"

"The museum reported a lighting failure." replied Jones. "It seemed innocent enough; none of the alarms were affected-"

"-So museum security didn't report the problem, figuring they could get it fixed in the morning." Neal shook his head in admiration. "This guy is smart. He knew that the museum wouldn't report a simple lighting failure-"

"-But also thought that it would disable the cameras." Peter finished. "Well, that's a good break for us; he probably didn't even wear a mask."

"A cocky thief is a caught thief." Neal said sagely.

"Yeah, Caffrey," snorted Diana, "you would know."

"Well," said Peter, placing the lab's CD in the player, "let's see just how smart this guy really is."

The video had been enhanced wonderfully by the lab team. While still quite blurry, the room was now visible, as was its eventual intruder.

"Is he wearing what I think he's wearing?" asked Diana incredulously.

"There's no way he actually got through those lasers in that getup." Jones watched incredulously as their impeccably dressed thief did just that, and ended with a tiny bow.

"Cocky fellow, isn't he?" Diana shook her head.

They all watched as the thief entered the restoration vault, tipping the classic hat to the security camera in passing. Finding the piece almost immediately, the thief carefully placed the masterpiece in a tiny, dark cylindrical container and strapped it to the dark jacket, where it blended perfectly.

With a flourish, the thief then placed a rose in the painting's place on the restoration table. With an elaborate bow to the camera, the thief exited the vault, cartwheeled through the lasers once more, and exited view, once more, giving a flashy bow for the now uneasy onlookers.

* * *

"No one," said Peter "is that good."

"I'm afraid so, Boss." sighed Diana. "Not once is there a clear enough frame to get a good view of this guy's face, and CSRU says no fingerprints or DNA were left at the scene. The only things the thief left behind were the aerosol residue and the rose."

"Anything remarkable about the residue?" Peter was grasping at any clue he could, while watching them quickly evaporate right in front of him. His eagerness at this case was beginning to evolve into frustration.

"Nothing." Jones shook his head, and there went another clue, up in smoke. "Sold in every car repair shop from here to California, and the label was completely removed. We don't even know when it was purchased."

"And the rose? With all the bowing. There has to be an angle there. There has to be." Peter was getting a little desperate; he was still under close surveillance from the island incident, and this was going to be a high-profile case.

"Other than the fact it's fresh, there's nothing. It could have been purchased recently," Diana sighed, exasperated, "or, it could have been frozen. Lab is still looking at it."

"What about all that bowing, and the guy's getup?" That part still puzzled Peter.

"Yes, he was quite the gentleman, wasn't he, with the rose, the suit, and the bowing?" Neal remarked.

"So, the question is: why was this 'gentleman' in a suit for a heist? It makes no sense…unless he came from a party or social event nearby." That was the only logical explanation. Yet again, thieves were rarely completely logical, in Peter's experience.

Diana rushed over to her laptop. "There was a dressy charity event a block away. Invite only."

Peter's face broke back into the big grin it had sported earlier. "The best kind. Who's the coordinator?"

"Tonia Schultz."

"Wait, Diana," Neal stopped the other two's mental victory dance. "What kind of charity event is it?"

"Laws of love, why Caffrey? Something wrong?" Neal had sunk back into his chair.

"We're either about to find this guy in record time-"

"Or?" asked Peter apprehensively.

"Or, more likely, it's another dead end. Laws of Love is a bachelor's auction for the projects; they try to keep them from going lawless." Neal shook his head. "Well, at least we can check those suspects out easily enough; last night only had 12 Bachelors, and the invite list is female-only."

"Well," Peter announced, rising once again, "let's go catch The Gentleman."

A/N: Ooh, mysterious! You like? You don't? Please R&R!


	3. Chapter 3: A Clean Slate

A/N: Hey y'all! I just want to start off saying I am sooooo thankful for all the views Of Law and Angels has received so far. I never dreamed it would grow as quickly as it has, and I feel so blessed by all of you!

Please, remember to R&R!

**Chapter 3: A Clean Slate**

Watching the sunset over New York City, the uncanny criminal now known to the FBI as The Gentleman lounged in a plush, velvet loveseat and replied to an earlier comment.

"Of course I got it. And yes, the client is happy. The arrangements are already being made."

There was a pause while the voice at the other end replied.

"That's good news; did they end up finding anything in the vault?"

Another, shorter pause.

"I had hoped not. It really is good to know that I'm still at the top of my game." The Gentleman gave a short laugh. "It won't be long before the FBI has another shot at me, don't worry. I don't plan on taking a break while there's work to be done."

The Gentleman began fiddling with a long-stemmed rose while listening to the voice on the other end of the line; a nice red rose should always be kept on hand, in the opinion of the crafty thief.

"Good, as long as the right buyer is buying, I'm ready to go. It's always wonderful to talk with you Alice." After the usual formal goodbyes, the line went dead. So, for that matter, did the phone. Seventeen stories was a long way to fall for a cheap burner cell. The bay below would consume any trace of the call, if the phone wasn't crushed on impact. Once again, the Gentleman was careful.

_Another day, another heist._ Mused the art thief. _And maybe this time, it might even be fun._

* * *

Jones and Neal had gone to inspect the scene of the crime, and Neal had looked like a kid on Christmas when Peter had told him to go to the museum's restoration vault . Peter and Diana would join them after getting the employee and volunteer records.

Tonia Schultz, a thin, frail young woman, was helping the clean-up crew pack up when Peter and Diana arrived.

"I'm sorry, you can't be in here-"

Peter pulled out his badge.

"Agent Burke, FBI. This is Agent Barrigan. Do you have time to answer a few questions for us?"

"O-of course, agents. Will you just follow me? I know where we can speak privately." She seemed more than a little flustered, spilling her clipboard full of papers across the floor. She scampered around, picking them up hurriedly on her way to the door of a tiny conference room. Ushering them inside, she looked uncertainly from Peter to Diana and back.

"Well, what seems to be the problem, agents?" She seemed to have regained at least some of her composure, motioning for them to take a seat. "I assure you, our agency is completely legitimate-"

"We aren't here looking for fraud, Miss Schultz. We would like to have a look at the employee records for every man employed here or who volunteered last night for the auction." Peter was trying to soothe her, for she had flustered again as soon as they sat down.

"Well," she said, calming once more, "I can do that, but whatever for? And why only males?"

Peter was taken back to that very conversation back in his office.

_How can we be sure this thief is female? _

_Diana, the general body structure-_

_-From what we can see in that video-_

_Yes, from what we can see in the video, is male. The lab analysts concur with this; thick torso, long legs, and lack of…um…_

_Breasts?_

_Yes. That is the main proof. He might not be the most broad-shouldered individual, but I suppose that's useful to a thief. Plus, do you really believe that a female thief would dress up like that, just to confuse us?_

_Come to think of it, no. Women have more common sense than to be _that_ cocky. _

Diana's response brought him out of his reverie.

"We have reason to believe that a male suspect from a local theft was here last night before pulling the heist." She was deciding to be upfront with Tonia. _This will be interesting, _thought Peter exasperatedly.

"What?" Tonia Schultz was incredulous, and Peter sighed inwardly. While Diana was an amazing agent, her social skills could be lacking at times."I do not hire criminals! Even if the government seems to think otherwise." She seethed.

"We just need those personnel files, Miss Schultz. That way, we can exclude your employees and volunteers from our search, if possible." Peter was trying to smooth things over, with questionable results. A phone rang through the silence. Still glaring, the enraged coordinator stepped outside to take the call.

"Do you think we'll find him here? I profiled all the workers on the way in-most are blond or brunette, and the two with dark hair are too tall." Diana shook her head. "We might have just hit another dead end, Boss."

"Well, let's hope for the best. Maybe the guy was one of the Bachelors." Peter most certainly hoped so; this case was quickly escalating, and if news got out that they weren't able to catch this guy…Well, between the copycat thieves end the paperwork, Peter would have his work cut out for him. He just hoped it wouldn't come to that. He rose as the still-pissed organizer reentered the room.

"Here," she thrust a small stack of papers at him. "now, if you'll see yourselves out, I have work to do." She spun on her heel and left.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Metropolitan's restoration vault was a clean slate. No fingerprints (the employees wore gloves in there at all times), and nothing had been disturbed except for the missing piece. Nothing out of the ordinary, minus one, glaring exception. The rose. The lab analysts had placed it precisely where it was found originally, deeming that it had, in fact, been preserved. Neal sighed at that. _No way to know when it was purchased, so no luck there. _

Nothing unusual about it; it was a fine specimen, a bright scarlet bloom that appeared almost at home amongst the art.

The art that made Neal feel like a kid in a candy store.

It was sitting here, collecting dust. He sighed. _One of the good guys, _he remembered. He was silently wondering if the good guys ever got to have any fun when Peter and Diana arrived. He exasperatedly explained the findings.

"As far as crime scenes go, it's a clean slate." Finished Neal.

"Not only the crime scene," Peter said, shaking his head, "this entire case is just that: a clean slate."

"Well," said Jones, "back to square one then."

* * *

A/N: What do you guys think? I love to hear from you! Once again, thanks to my wonderful beta, ccluvshorses101! Please remember to R&R, so I know whether or not you guys like how it's going!


	4. Chapter 4: The Ride Back

A/N: Hey y'all! I can't thank you enough for all of the support I've been given for this fic. Thanks especially to Stephanie, for keeping me on schedule (by threats, of course) and my wonderful beta ccluvshorses101! Love ya ladies! And, for all of you reading, please R&R! You make the writing process so much faster by reminding me people still read this ;) Now, I believe we have ourselves an amazing-but currently very frustrated-team to get back to!

**Chapter 4: The Ride Back**

Seventeen stories in the air, an impeccably dressed individual inspected the beautiful red rose that was soon to be a calling card replacing a soon to be "acquired" piece of art. Having decided that the name given by the FBI was quite fitting, The Gentleman decided to fit the part as much as humanly possible. Chuckling a little at the irony of the name-a gentlemanly thief! - the rose was set on a table so the harness, currently residing on the spotless white duvet, could be inspected. Finding everything to be in order, the harness was carefully packed into a dark duffel bag. Grabbing the rest of the luggage from the corner-packed earlier that morning in the same immaculate fashion-the cunning thief was about to exit the penthouse when the buzz of a cheap cell phone sounded. Stopping, The Gentleman flipped the phone open. The voice at the other end didn't bother with a greeting, instead immediately getting down to business.

"We're go for tonight on my end. Are you ready?" The woman on the other end of the line knew this question might as well be rhetorical; The Gentleman was always prepared.

"As always." The black clad figure replied.

"I'm not sure we should strike again so soon. The FBI is getting desperate, from the looks of things, and that could be dangerous for us."

The thief sighed. "You know what the warden said; we need the piece in two days for the deal to go down. After that—"

"Yes, yes, I know, only one to go." Alice had heard this many times already, having been there when the warden said it.

"Exactly. Plus, who would I be to rob the FBI of a show, starring the one and only Gentleman?" Asked The Gentleman with a grin.

"Well, of course not! That would be just _criminal_," Alice laughed. "I'll see you early tomorrow morning, then?"

"But of course." Replied the thief. "I'll be the one in the suit."

Both ends were laughing when the line disconnected. Dropping the phone in the already-filled tub, the thief donned a silken black top hat and entered the sparkling elevator, whistling a cheery tune all the while. _This,_ the thief thought _is going to be even more fun than I thought._

* * *

On the ride back to the office, the entire team had an air of frustration surrounding them, almost tangible, like a fog. There was little discussion, but the same thing was going through each of their minds: _What do we do now? _

It was certainly a valid question. Unless one of the twelve Bachelors was had recently acquired a Dalí, they were back to square one. They were all handling this knowledge differently. Jones was driving himself and Diana in his car, and was quite certain his boss would figure it out. When didn't he?

Diana was pensive, but remaining calm. The investigation was early yet, and the Bachelors might prove a solid lead; if not, they'd handled worse. She was driven by the fact that The Gentleman was a cocky SOB, and it irked her to let the cocky ones get a lead. God, but Caffrey had been bad enough. Plus, she was confident that, between her boss and-she admitted to herself grudgingly-Caffrey, they would catch this guy. It was just a matter of time.

Meanwhile, all too aware of his subordinates' faith in him, Peter was getting more annoyed by the minute. The case that had been such a wonderful change of pace in the beginning was quickly becoming one of the most aggravating cases he'd seen since…well, since Neal. Every time Peter thought he had _something _on his new adversary, it vanished in a puff of smoke. He felt like he was walking through a hall of mirrors; each turn only revealing how little he really knew! Taking a deep breath for the fifth time in so many minutes, he tried, once again, to relax. Getting a hot head, he decided, was not going to help him catch this guy any quicker. _Neither is driving like a maniac _thought Peter, as he was brought to the realization he'd just run a red light by numerous honks and an oath from Neal.

Peter's crazy driving had brought Neal out of his thoughts. He had been considering how much effort a heist like that had taken, especially to make it look effortless. The planning, meticulous but necessary, would have to have been thorough and lengthy. The clothing-Neal shuddered at the thought of such strenuous physical activity in a suit-would have been picked ahead of time. Camera locations would have to have been memorized. For such a hot piece, a buyer was more than likely lined up in advance by a fence that specialized in high-end pieces. Neal had just come to the conclusion that The Gentleman must have had a partner when Peter decided to start driving like a maniac.

"Whoa, man, calm down!" Neal managed to get out after his initial surprised swearing. "The evidence won't disappear if we don't get there right now!"

Peter gave a hollow laugh. "But, isn't that just it? It _all _keeps disappearing-the leads, the evidence, our options, all just-just-" Peter was surprised with himself—he rarely let his temper get this out of hand, even with a case this hot.

"Nonexistent." sighed Neal. "I know, I get it. But look at the bright side: we're probably going to get another shot here pretty soon."

"What makes you say that?" asked Peter, who was actually bothering to stop at the red light this time. "If I were him, I'd lay low with my newly acquired fortune; I certainly wouldn't risk it again."

"Of course not, Peter. You're too much of a good guy to even think of it. But, I'm going to let you in on a little thieving secret now, so listen." Peter leaned in intently at Neal's words, trying to keep his eyes on the steadily thickening traffic.

"I'm listening." Peter tried not to sound overly enthusiastic; he still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"Great thieves don't steal for money or the art itself. Yes, money is a factor, and some pieces are worth stealing for. But, in reality, it's all about one thing: the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of excitement you get when successfully pulling off a heist. It's exhilarating—and this guy just got a good taste of it. Trust me- he'll be back, with a bigger and better score." Neal knew Peter would never fully understand; he just hoped he would accept. One had to have experienced it to understand the thrill.

With a sigh, Peter did just that. "If you're sure, Neal, we'd better get back to the office; when our thief goes for this 'bigger and better' score we'll be watching."

"And whenever The Gentleman is involved, there is sure to be quite a show." Neal added.


	5. Chapter 5: Another Day, Another Dalí

A/N: Hey y'all! How're you doing? Well, I'm better because, as of the time I'm writing this, Of Law and Angels has received OVER 1,000 VIEWS! I am AMAZED! Thank you all sooo much for all the love! As always, thanks to my lovely editor ccluvshorses101!

Also, thanks to a guest, MEENAKSHI SINGLA, govgal, Mr. Quinnt, and rachaelhighway for their reviews! Reviews=my reason to get up in the morning, so don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts! Now, how about we get back to our story, hmm?

**Chapter 5: Another Day, Another Dalí**

_It's a good thing I'm wearing a jacket,_ mused the black-clad thief who just happened to be walking along the rooftop of a high-end apartment complex. The wind was bitter and cold-this was New York after all- and, even properly dressed, the shadowy figure wished to be inside as soon as possible_. I'm wishing for laser grids and security cameras, _The Gentleman sighed inwardly. _Maybe I really am going crazy._

Tugging at the harness one last time-be nothing if not careful-the robber made a running start for the edge and jumped, becoming invisible against the inky night sky almost instantly.

The wind whistled past, rippling the dark dress suit fervently. Landing upon the correct balcony, the housebreaker proceeded to don the signature black top hat and began to pick the lock on the sliding door. It was ridiculous; the man had a state-of-the-art security system on his front door, thousand-dollar motion sensors on his walls, and high end cameras sprinkled all throughout the apartment, but only a simple dead bolt on the balcony door. Building security itself was a joke-a couple of guards and some cheap security cameras-so getting here hadn't been a problem.

After exactly six seconds of poking and prodding, the deadbolt clicked and the door was easily opened, but only a crack. Running gloved hands along the edges of the door, the thief was pleased to find a lack of alarms rigged to it and promptly entered.

Near silent footsteps were the only sound to be heard as the bandit approached the private gallery. Stopping at the threshold, The Gentleman took out the handy can of aerosol that was never left at home. After being released into the air, the aerosol revealed a spiderweb of lasers covering the marble floor. Sighing, the black-clad bandit slipped the silk hat back into its custom pocket and took a step back.

The following feats of flexibility would have put several gold-medalists to shame, had they been there to see them. Cartwheels, handstands, and backbends pervaded, with a handspring or two for good measure.

In mere moments, the crafty cat-burglar was standing in front of what could only be described as paradise. For a thief, that is. Making sure to bow for the cameras-The Gentleman did have a reputation to uphold, after all- the thief proceeded to examine the pieces. There were two Monet's, a Rembrandt, and, of course, the Dalí. That was what the assignment had been: get the Dalí. Oh, well; who said a thief can't get a cut on the side? _Too bad I only brought one rose, _smirked the crook silently.

Loot in tow, the still-smirking housebreaker exited the apartment through the balcony door. Proceeding to reattach the harness, the shadow-clad thief jumped off a building for the second time that night.

Landing with a light thump, the victorious burglar donned the black silken hat once again. Hat securely in place, the thief pressed a button on the harness, reaching out a hand to catch the other end that came falling down, having been on the roof seconds previously. The Gentleman didn't exactly understand how it worked-Alice could get really boring when she explained things like that- but Alice had designed it, and that's all that the robber needed to know.

Returning the harness to the duffel bag that had been stashed in the bushes, The Gentleman slung the bag over the shoulder of the midnight dress suit and departed. _There is more to be done tonight,_ mused the thief, _and only so much night remaining._

"What took you so long?" Alice was irritated; the shadowy figure was twenty minutes late, and she had been worried. Not that she would admit it; her thieving friend would accuse her of lack of faith. She did have faith in her friend's abilities, but she cared for her crew. This made the others think of her as the "mother hen" of the bunch.

"I had to make a stop along the way," said the crafty housebreaker, a glow of victory shining through the darkness. "Here is the Dalí, along a little extra for insurance in case the warden wants to up the price."

"You never cease to amaze." Riley's voice came slyly out of the shadows. "Not that the warden should need any more motivation; we're giving him enough to retire quite happily on an island somewhere." Riley made the third member of their crew. Her ability to convince anyone of anything still amazed Alice, and made her the perfect con artist for the crew.

"Hell, with that much, he should be able to _buy_ an island somewhere," retorted Alice. She knew herself to be the technical smarts for the team: hacking, building gadgets, etc.

As for _T__he_ _Gentleman_-she still thought the name just too funny-stealing was the main game. Altogether, they were wanted basically everywhere-there were still a few countries of South America they hadn't hit yet- and had yet to be jailed. All except…well, they were fixing that.

"I don't care how much of it he takes," said their thieving friend tiredly, "as long as he keeps up his end of the bargain."

"Thank goodness for bribable officials," said Alice.

"I still think that I could have gotten him out without the bribes," pouted Riley.

"Of course you could," Alice soothed, "but this way is faster. And we all know how _he_ hates to be kept waiting."

Both of the others nodded quickly at that. There was no doubt that patience was not one of _his _more-practiced virtues. _At least the warden seems to be patient enough, _Alice thought.

Riley laughed suddenly. "Remember Montreal? I remember thinking he was going to blow a gasket when Alice came back five minutes late with the…what was it again?"

"A Van-Gough, I think." Replied Alice. "Or was it a Rembrandt? I can't remember."

"Alice," asked the well-dressed thief, "any updates from the FBI? I want to keep a couple steps ahead."

Alice checked her smartphone. The little thing was hooked up to her main computer and encrypted six ways from Sunday. "Nope," she replied, "looks to me like you have a comfortable lead on them. What did you think, Riley?"

"The lead one was pretty frustrated, but the other one was calm. Think you've still got room for error."

"Still, best to make none. Being a thief is hard enough without the prison time." The Gentleman was pensive. "I think I'll head on home now; I've had a long night."

"Goodnight," replied Alice and Riley in unison. It was around 3 in the morning; they'd best be headed to bed as well.

* * *

On returning, the team had tracked down each Bachelor and interrogated them for hours apiece. Only two were without alibi for the time of the theft. The rest had been "bonding" with the women who had bought their company for the night. The first had a credit card statement placing him elsewhere just before the theft, but they still measured him and the second for video comparison. Diana was in charge of overseeing it.

Jones had been asked to look for any similar cases in the last few years, something to base off of. Neal was to write a step-by-step log of how the heist went down, including approximate planning and exit times.

Diana entered Peter's office with what had to be at least her fifth cup of coffee tonight. She handed him his sixth and braced herself to give him the bad news. She took a deep breath and began.

"Boss, the results from the video comparison came back." She looked at him for a moment; he looked exhausted; it was 2:30 in the morning after all. She was sure she didn't look much better.

"Well? Which of them is it?" Peter knew he sounded as exhausted as he looked; he just wanted to go home for the night.

Diana looked sympathetic. With a sigh, she finally told him the news he'd been dreading to hear since she walked in. "Neither, Boss. It was another dead end. The first guy was way too tall, and the second guy was too overweight."

Peter was already half expecting this. With a sigh, he told her: "Go tell the team to go on home; we'll make a fresh start of it in the morning. Maybe we'll see something new then." He stood up while he spoke and was grabbing his coat when Neal entered, holding a seven page transcript.

"I finally finished, but there are parts even I'm unable to explain. It would be easier if I could ask Mozzie, you know."

Before Peter could reiterate about the fact Mozzie should not be involved in any more FBI investigations than he must be, Jones came bursting into Peter's office.

"What the-" Peter's surprised oath was cut short by Jones's out of breath statement.

"You've got mail," he panted, waving a small card through the air.

"It can wait until tomorrow, Jones, we're all headed home." Peter just wanted to get home and get some sleep.

"I don't think so, Boss; you're going to want to read this right now." Jones looked excited.

"I'm sure it can wait, Jones, we're all tired and-" Peter was cut off once again, but didn't mind once he heard what Jones had to say.

"It can't, Boss. It's from The Gentleman."

* * *

A/N: Oooh, the suspense! Whew, what a long chapter! With a _lot_ of Gentleman-insight! What did y'all think; do you like more of The Gentleman and co., or should our slippery antagonist stick to only a paragraph or two? Tell me your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6: The Note

Hey guys! I'm back (after a way too long hiatus *ulp*) and ready to write! I'm so sorry about my hiatus, and I hope you can still remember-and still care- about our case here.

Once again, I'd like to thank MorganD, rachelhighway, Mr. Quinnt, MEENAKSHI SINGLA, and, of course, my lovely beta ccluvshorses101. Thank you so much for your time and reviews!

Please also remember that I am only human-with teachers who must never cease divising new ways to consume my time. I will try my utmost to update regularly, but don't despair if I'm late by a day. No more long-term hiatus for me!

Please remember to R&R! Oh, and any comments are welcome ;)

Now, back to our long awaited story, hmm?

**Chapter 6: The Note**

The Gentleman was lying on a long, velvety couch when the call from Alice came. Sighing at the impending doom of yet another burner phone, the cunning thief answered.

"Why, hello Alice. What on Earth has convinced you to get up this early?" It was about 3:00. The Gentleman had gotten up to watch the sunrise. Alice, on the other hand, barely ever got up before noon, bar calamity.

The Gentleman sincerely hoped this wasn't calamity, but braced for the worst.

"I received a message from our friend behind bars this morning. He says to move on to Stage Two."

The Gentleman couldn't suppress a chilling smile. "Very well, Alice. Let us contact our other, more freely moving friend. You know he isn't patient. We move tonight."

Needing no further prompting, Alice disconnected and set about writing an email. She had meant to ask about calling Riley, but she knew better than trying to call back.

By now, her friend's cell phone was probably at the bottom of the Hudson, providing shelter for some lucky fish.

_FBI Headquarters_

The room had dropped into an eerie silence. The tiredness had shot out of Peter like a bullet and he was instantly alert. Everyone's focus was fixed on the small note Jones was holding gingerly, as if it were a snake.

After a second of shocked silence, Diana spoke up.

"Well? What does it say? Oh, never mind. Give me that." Diana took the note from Jones. For all her bravado, she still eyed it warily. Then she flipped it open and began to read.

"Dear Friends,

I hope that you are having fun with our little game. I know I am. In fact, on the topic of things I know, I know The Lacemaker will go just splendidly in my place in Seville. As to our little game, I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other quite soon, no matter who wins. But, I would advise you to act quickly, my friends; soon I will hold all the Aces.

Best of Luck,

The Gentleman

The room was still for a moment while they let it sink in.

"He's playing with us!" Diana burst out. "Telling us all about his new acquisition, I'm surprised he didn't mention what kind of hook he'd use to hang it."

"My question is," Neal said slowly, "how did he know what we were calling him?"

Another bout of silence filled the room.

"something else is off though," Jones said. "I mean, I've been thinking about it; if you stole a Dalí worth millions, wouldn't you sell it? Why keep it? And where is Seville?"

"Seville is in Spain." replied Peter.

"And why on earth would he tell us where he's taking it?" Diana asked, clearly perplexed.

"He wouldn't," Peter replied. "This is all just a game to him, and watching us squirm is just part of it. Well, get this to the lab for prints. Also, check the security feeds and see if we can get lucky."

_One Hour Later_

"I say we head home for now, guys, and get some rest. Maybe we'll get a better shot at this guy tomorrow." Peter was tired. The surveillance hadn't turned up much, just someone out of sight of the cameras laying a letter on the counter while the clerk wasn't looking.

No luck on prints either, just Diana's and Jones'.

They said their goodbyes and parted ways, Neal following Peter out to his car. Waiting for them stood a short man looking sketchily nervous.

"Well hello, Mozzie. I didn't expect to see you here." That was an understatement. Peter would normally be a little more shocked than this, but he was tired, and just wanted to go home.

"Have no fear, Suit, I come in peace." Neal rolled his eyes. Mozzie had a flair for the dramatic.

"What are you doing here Mozz? We're headed home."

"Well, normally, I would never accommodate you Suits and all of your hidden agendas," Mozzie began, "but this time is a novel exception."

"Well, Mozz, spit it out; what's so crucial?" Neal was interested; he never thought he'd see Mozzie _voluntarily_ give info to the FBI directly.

"Well, there are some rumors going around about this art thief who is making some big trouble around New York-"

"Yeah, we've heard of him." Peter was sure of exactly who Mozzie was speaking of.

"Well, I might know where the thief in question has, as you say, 'set up shop' for the time being. But!" Mozzie exclaimed as Peter opened his mouth to interrupt, "I have terms of releasing this information."

"Of course you do. How do we even know this is real? Where is this info coming from?" Peter was skeptical, especially of Mozzie and things that were too good to be true. Combine the two, and a new word was needed to describe the level of mistrust.

"To answer your questions, Suit, my source is reliable. He or she stated seeing a figure in black with a cylindrical canister arrive at the lobby and go up the elevator of a certain hotel on the night of the Metropolitan heist. My terms are as follows:" he held up a finger. "One. I will be immune from all persecution in the proceedings. My name shall not even be mentioned. I and my informant shall be referred to as Confidential Informants One and Two respectively."

"Do you even have anything to do with this, Mozzie?" Neal asked.

"No, but for the sake of my informant-"

"Ok, Mozzie," said Peter. "I think we can do the no names, but immunity is out of my control."

"I'll settle for it. Two:" Mozzie held up a second finger "I am forgiven for the 'Treasure' incident."

"So that's what this is about," said Peter. "You feel guilty."

"As if, Suit. I learned to ignore any counterproductive feelings such as 'guilt'" Mozzie made air quotes around the word "a long time ago. What I dislike is having my closest friend" he gestured to Neal "treat me with distrust and, in turn, one of his closest friends" he gestured to Peter "distrust him in return."

"Wow, Mozzie," Said Peter, momentarily taken aback "that's very…big of you."

"Well, Suit, before you get all emotional on me, here is the address of the Hotel, along with the room number." Mozzie handed Peter a folded piece of paper, with an address and room number written in Mozzie's hand.

"Once again, Mozzie: are you _absolutely sure_ this is the address? This isn't some sort of false alarm?" Peter was getting excited; this could be the lead they needed! He wasn't alone in this thought, Neal's eyes glinted with hope and excitement as well.

"Confidential informant Two couldn't be more positive, and neither could I."

"Call Diana," Peter told Neal, "And Jones, if he isn't still with her. I'm going to see how many people I can pull from their posts here at HQ to give backup. I'm not giving this guy time to get away." And with that, Peter dashed off towards the elevator, with Neal alongside him, already talking to Diana on his cell.

"And Mozzie!" Peter called over his shoulder "If this turns out well, all is forgiven!" The elevator dinged shut, two reinvigorated passengers.

A short time later, Peter and Neal were in one of four armored vehicles headed to the address given to them by Mozzie. They had taken every agent available, plus most of the operators who happened to be working late.

All of the superior officers present had volunteered, so they had the support of basically the entire building. They had met Diana and Jones on the way, and all were aboard.

Normally, this much force wouldn't be needed in a simple robber apprehension, but the case had become quickly famous throughout the department.

In truth, there were two reasons for this amount of support: One, everyone wanted to be part of the apprehension of the quirky Gentleman, and second, they knew the department's image would suffer if they didn't catch this guy quickly. They weren't taking chances.

Peter could only hope that Mozzie's friend was right.

Mozzie watched the vans pull out, one by one. By his count, there couldn't be many people left in the building; 5 at tops.

"Very good, Mozzie," came a voice from the darkness, whose owner appeared silently out of the shadows, followed by two more. "In fact, I probably couldn't have done better myself." The woman in front smiled a devil's smile, centered near perfectly from a shroud of richly chocolate hair. She was small; at first one might think frail. They would be wrong. Riley, he knew, had a quiet strength about her; they all did, especially in their areas of talent. Riley's area of talent happened to be conning, and she was regarded as one of the best in the business. _Except for Neal, _Mozzie thought loyally.

Not that he was acting very loyal.

They had the kind of strength that might not be noticeable at first, to the untrained eye. But Mozzie had practice with people like this, and they were quite possibly the best partners in crime alive.

"Most of them will be gone now. If you can't handle what's left, then you don't deserve to get in." Mozzie looked at the three of them. "We're even now. I'm done; out, you understand? I don't mind deceiving the Suit, but Neal…"

"We understand." Said the second young woman, stepping up alongside Riley. "This was quite enough for one night's work, I'd say. Go home, Mozzie; get a glass of wine. Leave all the hard work to us, hmm?" Alice laughed softly. She was s little shorter than Riley with mousey blonde hair. She was known for her design prowess (he couldn't believe the ingenuity of the harness design she'd sent him) and her more than equal ability in the world of code and firewalls.

As it was, the third figure, who was holding Alice's kit, handed it to her. The three of them started towards the elevator.

Mozzie couldn't keep quiet any longer. "They'll catch you, you know. You can't keep this up forever."

The third member, dressed entirely in black dress clothes, paused, and then turned to face Mozzie.

"But we don't need forever, my dear Mozzie. We just need tonight." The Gentleman's disguise may have been ingenious, but no one on Earth could mistake that laugh for a man's. Her hair was raven black, and eyes a jade green. Her features were far from masculine, but she was tall for a woman, and the fuzziness of the security cameras had hidden her already disguised figure from view.

The other two joined in as they proceeded to the elevator, but paused as it opened. Riley pulled out her gun and shot out the camera with a silenced _pew_, and the three vixens entered the elevator.

Mozzie turned and left, vowing to down a whole bottle of wine when he got home. _Maybe two, _he thought to himself bitterly.

Ooh, 2000 words! I can only hope it begins to help heal the void my hiatus caused. Also, congrats to for guessing The Gentleman's identity first. I'm sure some of you did as well, but my hope is that at least some of you were surprised! Please, do remember to Review!


	7. Chapter 7: Raided

Hey y'all! I'm actually updating AGAIN! I do plan on keeping a regular-ish schedule (if school permits). As ever, thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far; I love you all! My beta deserves great thanks for all she does as well.

Also, what I MEANT to write last time was Congrats to rachelhighway for guessing the Gentleman's identity first! But I messed up. Sorry Rachel! And Congrats again!

Anyway, let's stop staring at my obvious lack of forethought, and back to our story now, ok?

**Chapter Seven: Raided**

As the elevator closed behind them, the three women watched in vague interest as the camera smoked and smoldered. They listened to the light ping of the elevator, and quickly prepared themselves to disembark; they knew they only had one chance at this.

So far they had entered undetected, thanks to 99% of the building's occupants being either at home, asleep, or on a wild goose chase, thanks to Mozzie. Those that were left would mostly be secretaries or leftover technicians, and they wouldn't be difficult to subdue-not lethally, of course. They were thieves, not murderesses, after all.

As the elevator dinged open, Riley set out towards the AV room, where they knew, thanks to the schematics Alice "found" on the FBI server, the main outgoing cables for the telephones and the alarms were held.

While Riley walked off, Alice began setting up the cell phone and transmission jammer. This would prevent cell phone calls from getting in or out of the building, as well as internet and 3G. She activated it just as Riley sauntered back, looking quite pleased with herself.

"Well, that was fast," Alice remarked. "What happened? Did you get lost and need to see the map again?" Alice knew perfectly well this wasn't the case, but she was a sarcastic creature by nature; with her friends, that was.

Riley feigned indignation. "Why, I can't help the rest of you work too slowly. The cables are cut, and I'm afraid that the silent alarm probably won't work too well without them."

"Such a shame, such a shame." Tutted The Gentleman. "Why, someone could break in and rob the place!"

"I think," Riley smiled slyly, "we should go and inform the people in the building. They have a right to know when they're being robbed, don't you think?"

* * *

Having left the jammer hidden safely behind them, the vixens three continued down the hallway into the reception area. Once there, they were immediately confronted by a scrawny individual holding a stack of files, which he promptly dropped to the floor with a _thunk_.

"Who are you? This place is off limits, you know!" He said, with more bravado than really necessary. That bravado melted away rather quickly when Riley began laughing at him.

"I'm sorry," she managed after her laughter subsided. "It was just so cute, watching that pitiful display of dominance. What are you, a secretary? An intern? Ah," she smiled at his slight reaction-something that would be invisible to people without Riley's experience. "A lowly intern. Just wanted to boss someone around for once, huh? Too bad you chose the wrong set of someones." And with that, she tased him.

He crumpled to the floor like a wet rag. Alice sighed with feigned exasperation. "If you are quite done with the theatrics, I suggest we get a move on. The night isn't getting longer, you know."

* * *

Twelve and a half minutes later, every last member residing in the FBI office had been found, tied up, and, on occasion, tasered-but not necessarily in that order. When the employees had been deposited in the conference room (and the door securely locked and blocked) the team set out to work.

"Was a roundhouse kick really necessary, Riley?" Alice asked. "You could have just tased him, you know."

"Why waste its battery? Plus, he was asking for it." Riley was looking smug; she was more than willing to prove her fighting abilities once more.

"Not to interrupt, but how long do we have, Alice?" asked their raven-haired friend. "Not that the prospect of being walked in on by a few dozen armed FBI agents doesn't appeal to me, _but_..."

The other women giggled a little at the idea, even if it was a terrifying one. Their friend just had a way of stating things amusingly.

"I can't give you any specifics-" Started Alice after her giggles subsided.

"A ballpark would be nice, Madame Specific." Interrupted Riley.

"Okay then, a ballpark it is. I'd say we have about an hour, with the surprise awaiting them at the hotel, so let's be ambitious and strive to get out of here in forty-five minutes, hmm?" Alice implored.

"Alright, then, I guess we'd better get started." The Gentleman said with a wink.

And with that, the three overdressed thieves set about their work.

* * *

Peter grinned, albeit somewhat nervously, all the way to the hotel address Mozzie had given them. He really was into it now; the thrill of the chase, the battle of wills with the bad guys. It was a rush, a thrill.

Neal was relieved that Peter was happy again; his frustration had abated seemingly spontaneously in the last few hours…right after he got a text message.

With this sudden realization, Neal became curious. What did that text say to get him to shake off his moodiness? He decided to probe and find out.

"So, Peter, not that I'm complaining, but what has you so excited?" Neal asked, as if he didn't know how his friend reacted to a good case.

"The chase, Neal, the chase! The chase is on again, and it's bound to be a good one. I can feel it!" Peter was beaming and practically bouncing up and down with excitement; an exact antithesis to his behavior earlier…before he received the mysterious text message. Neal decided to probe further.

"Well, Peter, you didn't seem to be enjoying the chase very much earlier. In fact, you were downright miserable. What's up with you?" Neal was more than a little concerned; he hadn't seen Peter that way, ever.

"Oh, well, about that…" Peter looked embarrassed at the memory. "The truth is, Elizabeth and I had a fight earlier, and-"

"Peter, you and El never fight. Ever. What happened?" Neal was surprised to say the least; shocked was probably more accurate.

"Explanations will have to wait until later Neal, because we're here." Peter said, looking slightly relieved.

"Well, then," Neal said, "let's go catch us a Gentleman."

* * *

Alrighty! There goes another chapter. How do y'all like it so far? Be sure to review, so I can hear your thoughts! (My mind-reading skills are malfunctioning at the moment )


	8. Chapter 8

Hi guys! I hope y'all are enjoying the fic so far! I know I love writing it, even if school keeps getting in the way . The story is speeding up, and I hope I'm keeping y'all interested. Any thoughts? Yes, you there, in the back. Review! I want to know how I'm doing.

As always, thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. You all have a special place in my heart!

My amazingly patient beta deserves credit as well. Thanks for putting up with my irregular schedule!

Now, I think we have some sort of story to get back to, right?

**Chapter Eight: Surprises**

It was very dark in the file room of the FBI building where the three busy thieves were doing their work. The only light available was that of the flashlights in each of their hands, which they were using to search through the seemingly endless rows of files.

The files were alphabetized, but, since they didn't know which name they were looking under-the man went by many, after all-it was taking a while. Alice had compiled a list of _his_ aliases-the ones they knew of, anyway- but they hadn't had much luck so far.

Plus, they had to cover their tracks. Since there was no chance of avoiding the discovery of the theft, they did the next best thing: they started wrecking the place.

As soon as they finished with a row of files, they threw them everywhere, letting pages upon pages of information flutter to the ground like the first leaves of fall.

Soon enough, though, the floor of the room looked like a snow covered winter wonderland, albeit one with words all over it. Half of the cabinets were empty, and the three thieves were starting on the other half when Riley called out in a loud whisper.

"Over here! I think I found it!"

The others quickly joined her, leaned over a fairly large file that was filled to the brim with papers and blurry surveillance photos.

"Which name was it under? Which ones are listed? How much of it-" Alice was looking a little panicky. Alice tended to talk when she was panicky.

"Whoa, calm down there." Riley made a calming gesture with her free hand. "We can look at it later. For now, I say we get out of here. How much time do we have?"

The Gentleman glanced at her watch. "I'd say they'll be back in about twenty minutes or so. We should get going. But first," The black clad figure turned and pushed over one of the free standing file shelves.

At a look from the others, the raven-haired thief shrugged with an all-too innocent look on her face. "For good measure. Now let's go."

"Wait," Said Riley, "aren't you forgetting something?"

The Gentleman laughed. "Ah, yes. How could I forget?" She bent over and placed a ruby red rose on the floor sharply contrasting against the field of white.

"Very dramatic," Alice said approvingly. "Now let's get going."

In that instant, the three of them seemed to share a thought. Looking to the room's security camera, They each made an elegantly theatrical bow.

And with that, three laughing vixens left the building.

* * *

The extraction teams went ahead of the rest using the stairs, while Neal and Peter took point, heading for the elevator. The Hotel had been warned ahead of time, but the employees were continuing their normal operations as to keep from tipping off the criminal.

Neal still wasn't sure it was just one criminal, as he was currently in the process of explaining to Peter.

"I was reviewing the security tapes of the break in, and it just seemed a little too perfect. The thief knew exactly where to duck, exactly where to turn, and exactly where to go in almost complete darkness. Not to mention he seemed to know the location of every security beam in the building. One person just couldn't do all that by himself. The research alone would take months."

"Alright, then, how many people?" Peter asked, eyeing Neal skeptically as they entered the elevator. "If we go in there, how many people should we expect to see? I don't like surprises, Neal."

"Calm down, Peter. If there is a team- and I'm telling you, there is a team-they wouldn't stay in the same place. We'll probably only be seeing the thief today." Neal seemed fairly confident, but he was more than a little worried. He wasn't sure he fully trusted Mozzie's "informant", or his intentions. He resolved himself to be ready for anything.

Peter showed the resolution that Neal felt. "All we need is one, Neal. If I can get one, then I'll find the others. I can break him, Neal. I only need a shot." Peter looked down at his phone. "Crap, it's El. I'll text her." He set about doing just that when Neal decided to restart the interrogation. He was dubbing it 'Operation Inquisition' in his head.

"What was it you two were fighting about, anyway?" Neal tried not to look too curious.

"Not now, Neal. We have a job to do." Peter put his phone away. "So, are we looking for a few more thieves, now?"

Neal went along gracefully with this change in subject as he pressed the elevator button. "Not exactly. A team that pulls off a job like this probably has a few specialized people; planners, hackers, burglars, and so on. Whoever or whatever they are, more thieves would just be redundant."

"Why split the prize with more people?" Peter asked, understanding.

"Exactly." Neal looked pleased.

The elevator dinged to the top floor and the team immediately dispersed itself down the hallway, Peter on point and Neal close behind. Peter had his gun drawn and ready.

While Neal didn't have a gun, he was starting to wish he did. This entire thing had escalated so quickly thus far, and he wasn't sure where it would go next. It was hard to believe that it had been less than 24 hours since Peter had barged in on his hangover, excited about a new case.

The team arrived at the room number on the door. Peter signaled to them silently, and they surrounded the door. Neal got ready; he was excited to be taking this guy down. _What can I say, _he mused. _I don't like being shown up in art theft, good guy or no._

Peter held up three fingers, snapping Neal out of his thoughts. _On three._

He held up his first finger.

_One._

He held up a second.

_Two._

He raised the third finger.

_Now!_

And their entire team burst through the door.

* * *

Wow! Cliffhanger! Please Review for a speedy update!


	9. Chapter 9: The Bigger They Are

Hey y'all! How's it going? Me, I've got no free time after school recently, so I've been writing like crazy! I hope you all are doing well now that it's spring again (or fall, for those of you in the southern hemisphere), and go take the time to enjoy the weather! Or, read fanfics all day; that works too.

Once again, thanks to everyone who took the time to review this fic for me! I love to hear from all of you! Please please pleaaase take 30 seconds to review. It will make my day!

Now, I do believe I left a cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter; let's see what happens, hmm?

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Bigger They Are**

Neal opened the door into an inky blackness of eerie silence. It was the kind of darkness that seemed to have a life of its own, swirling and twisting into shadowy shapes that would seem almost whimsical if they weren't so sinister.

Cautiously, Peter took point, flanked by extraction teams A and B. He had a flashlight held in one hand and his service weapon in the other, wrists crossed to allow him to fire and see simultaneously. The entry hallway somehow seemed even eerier with the dancing shadows cast by the flashlight. Peter nodded forward and the teams took off toward the two side rooms of the suite, while Neal and Peter continued forward.

"Clear." Came the soft call from the left.

Peter swore silently. He should have reminded them to keep silent. He desperately hoped the other team had more sense than to tip-off the thief.

"Clear." Came a call from the right, as if in direct defiance of his thoughts.

Shaking his head, Peter turned his thoughts back to the door in front of him. Silently hoping to catch the thief inside unawares-and hoping that there really was a thief inside, he kicked the door open.

"FBI, don't-" Peter cut off when the room flooded with light, exposing, from what he could tell, many very bright blobs.

Cursing, Neal covered his eyes at the sudden, stunning brightness. Finally his vision adjusted, and he looked around at the hoards of cursing agents shielding their eyes. Then he saw the room.

"What the Hell?" He muttered aloud. He wondered if he was unconscious or dreaming. That was more likely than this. At least that made sense.

The entire room was decked out in colorful streamers and balloons. Across the middle of the room, hanging low from the ceiling was a banner reading 'Congratulations!'

Peter was looking around, mouth slightly agape. What the Hell was going on?

"Peter?" Neal said, the unspoken inquiry clear in his voice.

"Yea, Neal, I see it too. " Peter shook his head in wonder.

"Well, looks like someone threw us a party," Neal moved to one of the several streamers hanging from the ceiling. "And a very colorful one at that."

One of the agents moved over to Peter. "We found this on the coffee table, sir. I thought you might want a look before forensics hauled it off." The agent gingerly handed Peter a folded note, held through a rubber glove he'd been smart enough to put on, and handed Peter a glove of his own.

"Thanks, Sullivan." Said Peter, taking the note from him. Sullivan nodded and walked back towards forensics.

"From The Gentleman?" Neal asked.

"I'd bet my last dollar on it." Peter replied, and unfolded the note. He began to read aloud:

_Dear friends,_

_I'm afraid I was unable to be here for our meeting, but I hope that you have fun with the festivities. I was called away on business, but I'm certain we shall meet soon. Who knows, maybe I'll see you as I leave your office. _

_Forever yours, _

_ The Gentleman _

_P.S. Congratulations on finding my humble home, Agent Burke. Do be sure to keep up the good work._

There was a moment of silence between the two as the meaning sunk in. The two looked at each other.

"It was a trick," said Neal incredulously, looking almost in awe with the note in Peter's hand.

"We've gotta get back there." Said Peter, already gesturing to Jones and Diana.

"I'll get the van," said Neal, already heading out the door.

Five minutes later, they were weaving through traffic towards the office.

* * *

By the time they arrived, Neal had put it all together, though he most certainly didn't like what he saw. There was no way around it: Mozzie had played them. Though Neal had found Mozzie's repentance a little hard to swallow, he had really believed his friend was trying to apologize.

Now they would pay for trusting him.

But why? What could Mozzie possibly gain from helping the thief? It would have to be more than money-Neal doubted Mozzie was that desperate. Either that, or it was a sum with so many zeros that Mozzie couldn't say no. Either way, it was hard to believe Mozzie would betray him like that. Again.

As for the thief, what could The Gentleman want with the FBI. Why raise the stakes? Any thief breaking into the office was bound to get caught by a ton of security cameras, which thwarted all the work the thief had put into avoiding recognition. Plus, breaking into a government building, especially one containing classified documents, was just asking to be America's Most Wanted, if not put on the terrorist list.

Why do it? There was only one explanation: art theft wasn't the goal here. There was some bigger achievement on the horizon. Something worth all the risk.

Neal explained his revelations to Peter as they weaved through the roads, trying to get back to the office. He skirted over Mozzie's part and focused on The Gentleman

When he finished, Peter nodded. "But," asked Peter, "what could be worth that kind of risk? I doubt it's about money."

"No, that Dalí was worth enough to keep several people very easily set up on their own private island for a very long time." Neal shook his head. "There's bigger gain here."

"Which leaved political motive-"

"Doubt it," said Neal. "usually those make demands or, at least, want as much attention as they can get. The Gentleman is too discreet."

"Alright; it could be concealment. Maybe it's an elaborate coverup?"

"Maybe. Hopefully we'll know in a minute." They pulled up to the office, screeching to a halt with Diana and Jones on their heels. Neal had a sneaking suspicion that the thieves were already long gone; it wasn't ever _that_ easy.

* * *

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	10. Chapter 10

Hey y'all! I'm back-finally- with the next installment of our lovely story. Just what kind of mischief did our thieving trio get up to at the FBI office? Well, one thing's for certain: Neal and Peter are about to find out.

**Chapter 10: Homecoming**

A silent stillness seemed to haunt the building. Pressing the elevator button, Neal suppressed a shiver and continued to consider the possibilities of what they might find. He hadn't been surprised that Mozzie wasn't there waiting to greet them; he wouldn't stay a second longer in any government office than absolutely necessary, especially not after what he pulled. Shaking his head, Neal forced himself to focus on the problem at hand instead. First thing first: where were the people?

There were a few left at the office, and there should have been at least a little bustle, a little movement, a few signs of life. Neal didn't want to think of what the lack of those signs could mean.

Walking together, Neal and Peter made their way through the shadowy parking deck followed closely by Diana and Jones, all scanning the shadows for the faintest signs of movement, the tiniest signs of life. Suddenly, the sound of a car horn from below made them all jump.

Shaking his head, Neal pressed the elevator button. They were all on edge, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. They had been at this all day and hadn't had a minute to stop and think since they started the case. It was hard to believe that it had been less than twenty-four hours since the case had begun; it felt like it had been weeks.

The elevator dinged open, jarring Neal out of his reverie. He made to get in, but Peter stopped him and pointed. The security camera was a smoldering heap.

A shot, smoldering heap.

Neal got the message: _They're armed. _As the agents all drew their guns, Neal started to wish he had one of his own. The situation was escalating by the minute, and Neal wasn't at all sure where it was headed. He _was_ sure, however, that they were about to find out.

The four of them entered the elevator and hit the button for their floor. They'd start in the office, and see if they could catch the thieves. Neal seriously doubted they were still here, but if they were, then what?

Who was their mysterious Gentleman? What would he do if he was caught? Just how dangerous was this guy?

These questions kept spinning through his head as the elevator moved smoothly, yet to Neal agonizingly slowly, toward their destination.

Where they had no idea what they'd find

The elevator dinged as it reached their floor. The agents raised their weapons and pointed them at the elevator doors. No one was sure what they were about to see, but they planned on being prepared.

The doors slid open revealing a silent office. Nothing stirred, and the eerie stillness seemed to smother them. Shaking himself, Neal walked on, and the others follower, weapons at the ready. The sight reassured him; he breathed easier as they walked up the stairs to the office door. It was too dark to see inside, so they would have to enter and find out.

He had no idea what they would find when they did.

Approaching the door, Peter gave a signal to Jones and Diana. They took up their positions, Diana to one side and Jones to another, ready to knock open the door.

Peter hung back with Neal, ready to charge in. He held up three fingers. Neal watched as he counted down.

3…2…1…

Peter gave the signal. Jones kicked open the door, and Peter and Diana rushed in to cover the room, handguns swinging left and right.

They were ready for anything.

Completely ready to take on the frantic-looking horde of bound and gagged employees gathered about the desk, staring at Peter and Diana through wide eyes.

Cursing quietly, Peter set about to cutting them loose while Jones and Diana cleared the room.

The first freed-one of the interns- took a deep breath, and then started talking in a rush.

"They just came up, totally unfairly, and took me from behind! Then, when I woke up, there were a bunch of other people in here with me. None of us knew anything and-"

Peter managed to halt the unsettled youth with an upraised hand. "So, where are they now?"

Another employee, having been cut loose, answered the question as he rubbed his wrists. "Long gone. We saw them leave a little while ago, down the elevator. You missed them by about ten, fifteen minutes."

"I tried calling for help," another piped up, "but my phone wouldn't work for some reason."

"Same with the alarm." Said another. "Or, at least, I guess so, since the cops never showed up."

With that, they both proceeded to burst into tears. The other ex-captives all went to comfort them.

"Jones," Peter called over the hysterics to where Jones was just freeing the last bound employee, "I want you to go and check the alarm for tampering. Diana, start taking statements. Neal, you're with me."

"What are we doing?" asked Neal as he caught up to Peter.

"We'll go over the place and see if we can find out why the thief was here." Peter replied.

"Thieves," corrected Neal, "our witnesses saw three thieves."

"What else did they see?" Peter asked as they crossed towards the elevators once more.

"I didn't hear much more than that, other than that the majority of them were tased-but a few were taken out hand to hand, apparently."

Peter shook his head. "We need to sit down and get our facts together. We've been at this for hours straight with no time to catch our breath."

Neal let out a long sigh. "The Gentleman has been keeping us busy, that's for sure."

Peter nodded as they got to the file room's door. "I can't help but wonder-" he cut off as the door opened, revealing a mess of astronomic proportions.

The two of them stared at the room. The floor was carpeted in papers and folders, and one of the file cabinets had been knocked over.

"Well," said Neal with a gesture to the fallen cabinet, "at least we know where they've been."

Peter studied the room, then looked up and smiled triumphantly. "We've got 'em!"

Neal looked up, and smiled with Peter. Sitting there, perched like a squatting crow with its little light blinking, was a security camera.

They had finally caught a break.

At their latest place of residence, three thieves sat around a table pouring over the contents of a folder stamped with the seal of the FBI. Alice was reading the follow up reports from the various agencies of the United States that happened to be looking for the trio.

Riley was reading the foreign reports the FBI had compiled-she spoke more languages than the other two- but even she had to sit some to the side for Alice to translate later with her fancy computer.

The thief known oh-so-ironically as The Gentleman was reading the CSU reports of the sites of their various crimes. She was pleased to see that the FBI was still in the dark, but she knew that wouldn't last for long. After tonight, the clock was ticking; they had to spring the boss and get out of town before the FBI caught up.

"So," said Alice after they had finished. "We have three days."

The others nodded; they had all they needed to do what had to be done; the real challenge would be to wait until they had the opportunity to do so.

Oh, and not let the FBI catch them before they could do it.

One thing was for sure: the race was on.

Finally updated! What do y'all think? Review and let me know!


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